Upon patting the dog, Harry asked me if I had had a good time in the bookstore.
Before coming Harry pulled his cock out of me, and moved to my mouth before unloading.
Harry said he was pleased about this in a way, because Willie had breath that could raise the living dead.
A few minutes later Willie came down my throat, as I shot my load into his mouth.
After Willie came in me, Harry took over, and fucked me for the next twenty minutes.
On Saturday, Harry and Willie again visited and we followed the same ritual as before.
Willie and I had a wonderful time that evening, and he only left late the following afternoon.

Pretend you have just heard the news your best friend, in England, is coming to America again, this time, to attend film school, and will drop by to see you again, though you live clear cross country.
Pretend you have this friend in England, who came to visit for two weeks, two years before the auto crash.
Then because you are sick at mind and heart and feel the drugs have killed you already, not to mention the memory of the rape, imagine you fall in love with your dead friend, because he is dead, because you were so looking forward—then pretend you mourn him by watching the funeral of Princess Diana on TV...that at this point, your world crumbles like a paper sack.

Charlie was a beautiful child, mothers would look at their children and at him and compare.
Charlie didn't like to play that role, but he felt obligated to.
"King Charlie, I'm getting bored," Jennie said in her all too sassy voice.
"Like what?" Charlie asked in a sweet, childish voice.
They both ran up to the swings, Jennie sat down on one of the lower chains; Charlie stood behind her and pushed.
"Charlie, Jennie?" A distraught voice called for them.
She started up the car and they sat for a few minutes, letting it warm up.
Jennie's mom patted down on the chair beside her, he slowly sat and rubbed the fabric underneath him.
"Am I in trouble?" Charlie asked in the sweetest voice possible.

His eyes were held by mine, mesmerize, brimming over with tears, as I kissed and tongued my way up along his tender, inner thigh and devoured his cock with my mouth—mouth sucking on bulbous cock cap; tongue tracing throbbing veins; lips caressing up and down the sides of his huge dick; soft mouth taking him in, slowly to his full length and width; holding it there, deep-throated for an eternity, while it pulsated in the warm, wet, tightly clinging sheath; filling out to capacity; and, finally, spasming out two years worth of pent up cum.
Then I raised my head again, and once again took his eyes with mine; he lay there, drinking me in with waves of love, as my fingers returned to playing with his nipples and in his chest hair.

He stared at me, his light eyes piercing holes through mine, a smile playing on his face as he watched my hand skim up his sculpted abs and torso, stopping to play with the soft, black hair on his chest.
I'm so sorry to have to tell you this." Dr. Knott paused, took a breath, and looked Adam in the eyes.
While taking care of Ana, working full-time to support our family and the rising costs of what our medical insurance didn't cover, and trying to keep up with life, I had to watch as Adam went through excruciating pain, some days worse than others.
It had only been six years since the love of my life died, and this man was in no way, shape, or form the kind of guy that fit my usual preferences.

The prince agreed, and as they maintained separate bedroom suites, Madeleine retired to her room, and I shut and locked the doors of the master bedroom suite to the world, while the prince lay, exhausted at the foot of the massive, gilded, four-poster bed, still wearing all of his wedding finery.
On the third night after their wedding, she opened her chamber door and her legs to the prince, who did his duty, knowing that it was his duty.
When she produced a second child for the prince, a girl, Marta, the child had distinctively red hair—nothing like either Auggie's Mediterranean looks or Madeleine's Nordic ones.